Run To You
by Angryhamsterenergy
Summary: She seemed to radiate warmth and kindness and all things good. The Prince could not help but compare her to some other worldly creature that surpassed the beauty even of the elves. And yet she'd always been there . Right in front of his eyes... She'd always been there as someone to run to. Eomer/OC
1. Epigraph

**Book One**

_The candles lit her hair warmly, crowning her in gold and melting into her skin until she seemed to radiate warmth and kindness and all things good. The Prince could not help but compare her to some other worldly creature that surpassed the beauty even of the elves. And yet she'd always been there. She'd always been there as someone to run to. Eomer/OFC_

* * *

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Lord Byron.


	2. Prologue

_'Some say the world will end in fire'_

R. Frost- Fire and Ice

* * *

The attack came in the small hours before dawn. The Marshall awoke to the smell of burning thatch and the sound of a child screaming. The whoosh of a spear answered the cry and Eomer was awake, reaching for his long sword and the small knife he had slept with under his pillow since he'd begun patrolling the Westfold in his youth.

Outside, in the pale light before dawn, the horses stomped and cried out for their riders. A man's shout rang out and the child screamed again, differently. Eomer winced in the predawn light which was made all the brighter by the burning of houses. He instantly ran forward and quietened his horse, jumping, unarmoured, astride it as soon as it stood still.

Instantly, it seemed, chaos broke out all around him. The villagers awoke and the screams of one child were joined by many.

The man's shout, too vicious to be that of one of his eodred and too brutal to be that of one of the villagers, was joined by 50 more of its kind.

"Get on your horses!" Eomer shouted, more out of habit than necessity. His small but strong eored barely needed to be commanded, after so many nights riding through the plains of Rohan they worked as one body, each horse understanding its masters command with barely a touch or a sound.

Riding focused him as nothing else could and Eomer could soon see someone running around beating at his hair with his hands; one of the nearby flames had reached out and licked his head. The flames, hissing and spitting like the wildmen that had given them life, flickered wildly, spreading out from this one man to swallow the whole village. It became one great furnace trapping people alive.

Eomer let his mount, Firefoot, lead. From their horses the Rohirrim had an advantage that could not be overcome. His colt was used to warfare and did not flinch in the face of wild men wielding axes. His strong legs pushed forward their charge and the pair ran down many of their foes. Slashing and stabbing, the smoke thickened. Soon, it was curling around their faces, choaking and staining the white horses black. The Marshall's sword burnt bright with the rising sun and the fresh flames of fire that enhanced it.

The short battle slowed and when the fight was clearly over they dismounted, checking the dead and piling the corpses away from the village so that they could be burnt or buried. Around them some families wept for lost loved ones but Eomer was content that they had halted the attack before the whole village was lost.

The fight had not been a long or bloody one, but the men of his Eored we're shaken still. They were close to Edoras, barely a day's ride from the Golden Hall and never before had a hunting party attacked when they were so unprepared.

"These were no unarmoured savages. They have been given weapons and protection by a higher evil." Eomann, an older warrior with a lifetime and more of experience grumbled, plucking up a sharpened blade from the ashes of a barn. Even in the early morning, he knew not to waste good steel.

Eomer knelt to inspect one of their helmets, shaking his head at the waste of life set out before them.

"They come from the mountains, my lord." Another voice called from beside him, "They may have passed through many villages before coming here."

"They were heading for Edoras. How can evil be at work so close to home?" A third voice said,

"This is news we must share with the King." Eomer agreed, for months they'd been witness to the pillaging and destruction of Rohan's villages and his heart felt heavy with the lack of action from Edoras to protect their people. He feared a greater attack was imminent.

"We should not be asking the people to live in fear like this, my lord."

Eomer encouraged candour amongst his men but still these words stung. Nevertheless, he nodded, it was evident that something had changed in Rohan since his childhood, and not for the better. Light faded fast and the nights were long. A great shadow seemed to linger over the land he loved and his weakness to stop it made him angry and tired.

"Is anyone harmed?" He asked, shrugging off a small pain in his upper arm where he had been knicked by the blade of one of the wild-men's spears.

"Foren was slain, my lord. Only a few were injured... Báran was struck by an arrow."

"Báran?" The Marshall asked, his tone more urgent as he stood, dropping the helmet to the floor. "Where is he?"

Unlike most of his Rohirrim, Báran had dark hair. He was tall, tanned and the best archer of his men on horseback. He was easy to talk to and like Eomer, easy to anger. They had been close friends since childhood.

The young man had been taken to rest by the hut that Eomer had been given as his own the night before. It was not often that the Eored stayed in villages, but the plea of a farmer had drawn them closer to a settlement not far from Theoden's halls. In hindsight the Marshall could only praise the old man's suspicious mind, it had saved the lives of many villagers.

Báran sat, ridiculously, with a smile on his face. Grinning at his leader and friend as Eomer came to kneel beside him.

The Marshall did not need to ask where he had been struck, a pool of red could be seen through the bandages his men had strapped around his left shoulder. With careful hands, he went to look at the damage.

"There are no more supplies in the village." Eomann said from over his shoulder. "They were burnt down and ruined in the flames."

Pitifully, the grey clouds that had been looming over head for the past day and a half broke, and a few spots of rain littered the ground around them, darkening several more patches on Báran's maroon coloured shirt before Eomer could speak.

"Worry not." Báran conceded, moving his left hand to grip his shoulder. As he looked up to the sky his dark hair hung over his eyes and soon was sodden and plastered to his forehead. "Clearly my luck has run out."

"No... Báran… I will take you to a healer myself." Eomer argued, he was surprised at his tone. But the stiffness of his voice that told of the threat of anger was one that Báran had been able to read through since they were children. The rider's eyes began to droop, struggling to cope with the heavy rainfall and the pain. Eomer patted him on the cheek, wincing himself when Báran took in a sharp breath and then hissed.

"Eomann." Eomer called, the older man was standing at his shoulder within seconds. "Fetch Firefoot and my gear!"

"-No...Eomer." The injured man's voice cut through the Marshall's orders. Eomer glared at him sightly and Báran sighed reluctantly, "Do not take me to your fancy court healer... - take me to my sister."

"Breaca?" When Eomer had last seen her, she had been a child, helplessly following her brother around, her hair a wild mess of dark curls that couldn't be controlled. "This is no time to say your goodbyes, Báran."

The brown-haired youth just shook his head scoffing, "I won't say goodbye, just take me to her."

Solemnly, Eomer nodded, unable to face the clear pleading in his friends' eyes.

"Eomann and Aelfred come with me. It will take two of us to lift him. We'll ride ahead and the rest can follow when all is put to rest here."

Eomer allowed his eyes to gaze around the village.

"Finish burning the dead and make peace with the villagers, follow on when the rain stops."

With a few grunts his eored prepared his horses and soon the Marshall began riding with haste. Baran gripped steadily between his arms he made for the Golden hall, the sky darkening above them still, despite the teasing sun of the dawn.

* * *

AN... And so it begins :)


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